


Slow Waltz

by Puffls



Series: Hold on Forever [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pre-Canon, Slow Dancing, hurley and sloane are gay and in love and i love them so much, pre-gaia sash, this is incredibly gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 04:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11051661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puffls/pseuds/Puffls
Summary: Hurley convinces Sloane to take a nap.Sloane asks Hurley for a dance.





	Slow Waltz

The stench of sweat and oil and dirt hangs in the air as the sun dips over the horizon, casting the world in a brilliant glow with it's final dying rays. 

Hurley lay on her back in Sloane's garage, wrench in hand. There was something wrong with the undercarriage after the last race that made some sort of rattling noise whenever they test drove it. It worked smoothly aside from that, but it drove Hurley up the wall. It was a minor problem for now, but there was no telling what could happen if something went wrong mid race because of it. So she laid under the cart, testing the stability of various parts, tongue sticking out in concentration.

Normally Sloane took care of maintenance, as she built the cart from scratch and tended to be pretty protective of it. It was actually kind of funny watching Sloane swell in pride as she launched on some spiel about the care she took in crafting, the light in her eyes and the grin on her cheeks shining brighter than the setting sun, happy to talk for hours on end. She seemed so happy to talk about it, so Hurley was happy to listen to her rant about the structure and build of battle wagons and efficiency vs aesthetic appeal, how certain designs failed in the past but this one had been her best attempt yet, and on and on. Most of it went in one ear and out the other, but hearing Sloane so passionate encouraged her to learn as well so she could understand and bounce back.

Not to mention, by learning how to take care of maintenance and repairs, she could convince Sloane to actually get some sleep every now and then.

The thing was, Sloane rarely slept. She always claimed that she never had time to, that there wasn't enough time in a day to sleep. She'd spend days running the streets, continuing her tirade of snatching from the wealthy (Hurley didn't approve) or helping those in the slums. She'd run odd jobs for people here and there, taking every opportunity she could grasp. She'd do what she could to make ends meet during the day.

Nights were reserved for the wagon. And Hurley, of course.

But because nights were regarded by Sloane as Sloane-Time, she was unwilling to give up much more than an hour or two of it. There were things to be doing, machines to fix, wagons to race, girlfriends to smooch. Nights when the wagon had an issue, Sloane rarely slept - opting to work from dusk to dawn instead. Hurley must've had the luck of a deity on her side when she managed to convince Sloane to take a nap today and let her take care of maintenance. They both had taken the day off, and Hurley was determined to get Sloane to rest for once.

She went down with many complaints.

_ "I don't need to sleep, I'm an elf, Hurley!" Everyone needs rest, Sloane. _

_ "It'll only take me five minutes, c'mon Hurls!" Sloane, it has been three hours. Go to sleep. _

_ "You're not my mom!" Sloane. Why are you like this. _

She went back into Sloane's nest of pillows and blankets five minutes later to make sure she hadn't ran off, only to find the half elf out cold and snoring. Three hours later, the sun is setting and Hurley still hasn't fixed the fucking thing that's rattling, but found several other issues left over from a sleep deprived cleaning job. But Sloane is catching up on much needed rest, so she isn't too upset.

At least, until there's a hand on her ankle that sends her shooting up instinctively, slamming her head against the underside of the wagon with a pained yelp. Loud, wheezing laughter rings through the garage and Hurley lets out a huff.

"Sloane!" she yells, rolling out from underneath the wagon. She's only somewhat annoyed; she didn't cut her head on anything, and she's happy to hear Sloane laugh - even if it is through a shitty prank. She sticks her tongue out at her and blows a raspberry while Sloane cackles.

"Morning to you too, Hurls!" A few hours of sleep aren't enough to chase away the dark circles from under her eyes, but Sloane's dopey grin is bright as ever and Hurley's heart melts a little at the sight.

Sloane offers a hand that she gladly takes and pulls her to her feet. "It's eight at night," she supplies, a teasing smile at her lips. The half elf looks a touch sheepish at that, as if she hadn't meant to spent that long on her nap. "Sleep well?"

"I don't sleep," she says, and Hurley raises an eyebrow at that.

"Uh huh."

"Elves don't sleep!"

"Uh huh." Hurley's arms are crossed in some estimation of a stern look, puffed up to her full height at the bottom of Sloane's ribcage. She gives her her most incredulous glare from there as she teasingly hums once more. " _ Uh huh _ ."

"Huuuuuuuurley," Sloane whines, but the look Hurley is giving her is something else and she's sleepy and woozy and another fit of laughter erupts from her chest because she knows Hurley is right. There's just no way in hell that she'll admit it. By all things holy, did she need that nap. But admitting that would mean Hurley got to be smug about it, and she was not about to relinquish such information. "Hurley, you're no better and we both know it."

" _ Uh huh _ ," Hurley huffs, hands now shifting to rest on her hips, foot tap-tap-tapping against the stone floor.

Sloane sticks out her tongue, ears flattening back for a moment before flicking up again. "How long have you been working on the wagon, anyways? Any luck?"

"Since I dragged your ass to bed. And nah, not really." Hurley seems to be avoiding her eyes now,  posture slumping. Right. The entire endeavor was just. Frustrating. Disheartening. She was covered in grease and oil and had nothing to show for it except for a cleaner undercarriage and a few tightened mechanisms. Up until Sloane spooked her, she was just about ready to throw her wrench at something.

Seeming to be able to feel the waves of frustration coming off of the halfling, Sloane fixes her with a sympathetic smile, well aware of what a royal pain in the ass maintenance could be. "Hey Hurls, I have a better idea than shaming me over my shitty sleeping habits."

"Hm?"

Sloane was now walking away from her - a spring in her step that left Hurley bemused - towards a corner of the garage covered in papers, posters, and tools that never seemed to be put away. She quickly cleared off everything that had been resting on some old machine that was used more as a table these days than whatever it was intended for. It looked to be some sort of gramophone, covered in the dirt and dust that clung to everything in Goldcliff. Sloane quickly brushed the most of it off with a sleeve and blew off the rest, regretting her choice moments after when the dust clouded up around her. Hurley watched as she picked up the machine with a quiet "whup!" and hauled it over to rest on top of the hood of the cart. Sloane then rushed back to the corner to retrieve some sort of a folder - a record album? - and placed a disk on the machine. She turned the crank a few times, let out a breath of relief when music began to sing out of the machine's horn, and then turned to Hurley with a wide grin on her face.

"Dance with me, Hurls?" Sloane asks, hand outstretched. Hurley's eyes glance at the hand, then back at Sloane, then at the hand again. "You don't have to."

"I don't know how," Hurley laughs. Her voice is tinged with embarrassment, like she expects Sloane to laugh at her for such a simple thing. But Sloane merely fixes her with a soft smile, and god, her heart skips a beat.

"I can show you." Sloane waits, expecting to be turned down with a yell and a slap. Her smile droops and there's a sad look in her eye as she gives Hurley the space and option to decline. But after a moment, Hurley fixes her with a grin as she nervously takes her hand. Sloane places a hand on her shoulder and Hurley places a hand on her hip, allowing Sloane to lead her in a slow waltz. 

It's nothing too spectacular; a simple box step swaying in time to the rhythm. Their clasped hands sit at an awkward position due to the height difference - Hurley having to reach up, Sloane bending her elbow so Hurley remains on the ground. It's awkward and graceless, but Hurley finds herself laughing anyways at how Sloane the entire situation is - waking up from a nap, gay banter, and a dance neither of them know how to do. But neither of them are unwilling to learn, so they ease into it through trial and error.

The two stumble and slip at first, unused to the height difference and ill suited ground - yet onwards they carry, growing braver with each passing minute. The gentle swaying turns into hesitant steps, which grow more confident with each movement. Sloane begins to hum alongside the gramophone, feet tap tap tapping along to the rhythm as Sloane twirls her in a slow spin. Their clumsy, shuffling movements smooth out into long gliding steps, and even though one would occasionally slip or step on the other's foot, neither seemed to mind. It sank into a set of movements repeated however many beats, interrupted with a twirl. Twirl, slide, step, slide, step, step, twirl. Both knew how to dance on their own, but when it came to something more than bobbing and flailing to upbeat music? Clueless. Slide, step, slide, step, step, twirl, dip.

Hurley's back is resting in the crook of Sloane's arm, and she's fairly certain that you don't dip your partner with a waltz. She's about to give her a questioning look when a sly grin crosses Sloane's face. Her hands shift from her shoulder and back to her sides and Hurley's feet leave the ground with a surprised yelp that gives way to laughter. Sloane swings her in lazy circles, pivoting on a single foot and using the momentum to keep her twirling, the other leg swinging into the air in large steps. Both of their faces are red from laughter that mingles and entwines with the gramophone's rusty song.

It's sloppy and graceless and carefree and there's absolutely no other way Hurley would want it to be.

The song is nearing its close and Sloane has opted to hold her close in a tight hug. Her arms are wrapped around her middle and the two are chest to chest, Hurley's legs still dangling above the floor as Sloane continues her spinning. There's a cocktail of emotions buzzing in her heart, of breathlessness and adoration and anxiety and happiness and love love love -

Hurley cups Sloane's face in her hands and presses her lips to Sloane's forehead. Her cheeks. Her eyelids, her jawline, her nose, her lips. A hand shifts to run through Sloane's long hair and hold her close and she can feel Sloane's grin and laughter against her lips while she peppers her in kisses. And she's happy, she's so happy, the happiest she's been in years, twirling around in a garage, working on an illegal battlewagon, kissing the thief she pursued for months and never caught. She's so happy and so in love and she needn't worry about it being unreciprocated; Sloane has continued swinging her long after the gramophone had stopped, another song welling up in her throat punctuated with laughter as Hurley makes a game of interrupting it.

They hold each other tightly in their embrace as they dance long into the night, and they have never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> look. look. look. look.
> 
> i'm really gay. that's it, really, that's all i have to say. i've got a big gay heart and i have a weakness for slow dances. let sloane and hurley slow dance and be happy.  
> title was wrote with [A Slow Waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvs0VqWGbO4) by Lullatone in mind. it's a super cute song and I cry.
> 
> my tumblr is whimsicmimic so gimme a shout over there and cry with me about tree lesbians and slow dancing


End file.
